Tenus
by Azraeos
Summary: HpLOTR Crossover. A series of unrelated drabbles about Harry Potter characters in Middle Earth.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own _Harry Potter_ or _The Lord of the Rings_. They belong to J.K. Rowling and J.R.R. Tolkien, respectively. This is an amateur attempt. One which I am not making any profit over.

Warning: Most of these drabbles will be based upon _The Lord of the Rings _novels, not the movies. So you might want to catch up on your reading.

Enjoy!

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**First Drabble: A Head of Fire**

"Help!"

It was the most frightening experience of Frodo's life. To be trapped by a Barrow-wight; to be under its spell. He would perish here, lost amongst the other poor souls who'd fallen under the same trap Frodo had inadvertently tripped in to. And what of Merry and Pippin? And his dear Sam? Were they now, too, screaming for help?

"Help!" he yelped once more, for he had just seen the loathsome Barrow with his own eyes. Evil and dark it was, a mere shadow in the blackness of the pit. How he had seen it at all, Frodo knew not, but he did know that he wished to be out of there. Fast.

Oh, what he would give to have Tom Bombadil there. If only ―

"Lumos."

Frodo blinked as a dazzling light blinded his eye sockets.

"You right there?"

Slowly, the hobbit's eyes opened. Crouched above him was a head of fire. Never had Frodo seen hair as vibrant as that. Below the fire stared a pair of brown eyes. Frodo almost sobbed at the kindness in them. This person was no Barrow-wight. No Barrow would look so gentle.

"Yes," he answered. "Yes, I am now, to know that I am not alone in this awful place." It did not occur to him to ask how the young man (for he was no hobbit) had managed to make light. He was only too grateful that the shadows had been chased away. And, it seemed, the Barrow-wight with them.

"Don't mention it." The boy held out a hand. "Name's Ron. Ron Weasley."

The hobbit took it. "Frodo Underhill, at your service," he replied, remembering in time to use his travelling name.

"So," said Ron Weasley. "D'you have any idea where we are? I mean, my potion exploded, then I turned up here and some _thing_ was going on about how it had been waiting for me . . ."

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A/N: More drabbles to come . . .


	2. The Not So Perilous Journey

Disclaimer: I do not own _Harry Potter_ or _The Lord of the Rings_. They belong to J.K. Rowling and J.R.R. Tolkien, respectively. This is an amateur attempt. One which I am not making any profit over.

A/N: Thanks to those who've read and reviewed. This one is not really so much a drabble, as a one shot. Perhaps a combination of the two.

Enjoy.

**Second Drabble: The Not So Perilous Journey**

Frodo had been chosen to bear the One Ring of Power.

Eight other members were to have accompanied him on this perilous journey to the dark lands. They were to have made a Fellowship. A Fellowship of the Ring.

Until _he_ came.

Sam, Merry, and Pippin did not know where he had come from, and would likely never know, as they were not important enough to. But Frodo was. He had been allowed to know — and he wished now that Gandalf had never told him. He wished now that he had not spoken up at the Council meeting, declaring that he, a mere hobbit, would willingly carry the Ring to Mordor; to the mountain of fire and death.

Perhaps if he had not done so then he would not be here, now, dangling in the air in a height that only those creatures bearing wings had ever been able to achieve.

But the creature Frodo was now riding did not own wings. Indeed, a creature it most certainly was not. Not hardly. A bit of wood was the only thi ―

"Don't worry, we're almost there!"

Frodo was not a person who was wont to complain about the difficult tasks life threw his way, but he had already been riding the wind for over three hours now, and that was a very long time. Especially for a hobbit. "I cannot see," he told his companion, who was sitting behind him.

"Er, I don't want to state the obvious, but you might try opening your eyes, then."

"I am too frightened to open them, Mister Potter, and even if I were the wind would surely sting them so much I would not be able to see either way."

"I can see the mountain now. Go on, open them."

Frodo did so. Then closed them instantly.

Mordor was not a very nice place.

"Now all you have to do is throw the ring into the fire. Simple."

"And Sauron cannot see us?"

"Course not. The disillusionment charm won't go away until I cancel the spell."

Spells. Charms. Broomsticks. _Poor Frodo_, he thought to himself. _First the Ring, then those wraiths, now this boy wizard. Will you never be rid of this unwanted adventure? _

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A/N: I know it seems like a pattern, but these drabbles won't all just be of Frodo.


	3. Fudge's Glory

Disclaimer: I do not own _Harry Potter_ or _The Lord of the Rings_. They belong to J.K. Rowling and J.R.R. Tolkien, respectively. This is an amateur attempt. One which I am not making any profit over.

A/N: Thanks to those who've read and reviewed. I actually had a lot of fun writing this one. Again, it's longer than a drabble is supposed to be . . . but, I don't care.

Enjoy.

**Drabble Three: Fudge's Glory**

"Ow! Why are you doing this! What are you? Do you have any idea who I am? I could have – Ahhh!"

The monster had slammed the butt of a very sharp looking sword against his shoulder.

Outrageous!

Where did they get off treating him this way? Bound, almost literally hog-tied, forced to scuttle in front like a dog. He was the Minister for Magic . . . well, tomorrow he wouldn't be, but for now he was. To think that these creatures had the audacity to slam him around as though he were, as though he were a common muggle . . . well he wouldn't stand for it!

They had taken him by surprise while he'd still been trying to figure out just where he had ended up; tied him up before he could draw his wand. But he wasn't a wizard for nothing, and even if he didn't know where in all Merlin's Beard he was he could still apparate. Though he might end up in a desert somewhere . . . and there was the unfortunate bonus of taking some of the creatures with him. The ones that were touching him. Couldn't be helped.

For one silent moment he stared at the tower in front of him. "Meenas Morgue," he thought he'd heard one of the creature's mutter. A tower like nothing he'd ever seen. It had the look of something that could have once held value, but was now a sort of eerie green dirty colour . . . and were those gargoyles' eyes moving?

Something large and heavy pushed into his back.

He fell heavily, falling onto his bound hands. He couldn't quite stop the whimper from forming.

The creatures laughed.

He became angry. Furious. Humiliated.

Who were these abominations? How dare they get off laughing at him? He, Cornelius Fudge, currently held the greatest position of power in wizarding Britain. He could have them thrown in Azkaban. A few days with the dementors ought to change their tunes.

He mentally waggled a finger at them, then stopped upon realising that that wasn't really helping his situation.

He shifted to his knees and ― what was this?

His hand had brushed against a thin, round thing. Could it have fallen out of his pocket? Could it be . . .? He curled his fingers around the hilt. It was!

He stood. Calm.

"Gentlemen," he said, turning to face his captors. "I believe the tables have turned."

They laughed raucously. Some growled. Some licked their chops.

Ordinarily, he would have shuddered. He wasn't a very brave person, but anyone could become courageous when their life was in danger. Especially if something was planning on eating you.

A few minutes was all it took. The ten or so creatures turned into an assorted array of teas and pastries and cutlery.

Cornelius unmagicked his ropes and helped himself to a buttered scone ― one former leader of the creatures.

He chuckled to himself. They had been planning to eat _him_, and look at them now. The tables really _had_ turned.

xxxxxxx

A/N: I really wanted to see Fudge kicking butt. After all, he's not an evil man. He just has a different set of proprieties. I still think he's a bleeding twerp, but he's definitely better than Voldemort.


	4. Maggot's Malfoy

Disclaimer: I do not own _Harry Potter_ or _The Lord of the Rings_. They belong to J.K. Rowling and J.R.R. Tolkien, respectively. This is an amateur attempt. One which I am not making any profit over.

A/N: I had loads of fun writing this one. Hope you enjoy.

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**Drabble Four:** Maggot's Malfoy

_Dig. Grip. Yank._

_Dig. Grip. Yank._

_Dig. Grip. Yank._

Draco shuddered with revulsion as he stopped for a minute to examine his hands. Calluses were spread liberally over his palms and at the joints of his fingers. Dirt had settled comfortably under his fingernails, and to top it off, he was sunburnt.

Horribly.

"When I find my wand . . ."

"What was that, boy?"

Draco sneered at the dirt, secure in the thought that the midget couldn't see. "Nothing, Farmer Maggot," he drawled. "Absolutely nothing."

"Hope it was nothing," said the Maggot, still sitting on his little stool and puffing away. "Or I shall be forced to set Fang on you again. Wouldn't want that would you, my lad? Wouldn't want me to hear any of your magic muttering again? Wouldn't want to go up on trial again, would you?"

Draco couldn't quite stop his hand from reaching over to rub his sore bottom. The teeth indentations still hadn't faded. "No. I would not."

_That_ had been a degrading experience, and one he hoped his father never found out about. Loosing his wand to these mudblood midgets had been bad enough ― not to mention that mongrel of a dog ― but being forced to stand trial in their poor excuse for a courtroom. . . Just because he'd levitated one of them, exploded a house, and set fire to a cabbage patch. It wasn't like he'd done anything nasty, or something.

_Stupid punishment. Stupid midgets. Stupid world!_

"Splendid! Now get to work. I want those carrots properly harvested by dinner. Then you shall go back into your cellar."

Draco shuddered again at the mention of the dreaded cellar. He would be cold again tonight.

_Dig. Grip. Yank._

_Dig. Grip. Yank._

_Dig. Grip. Yank._

_When he found his wand . . ._

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	5. Firestorm

Disclaimer: I do not own _Harry Potter_ or _The Lord of the Rings_. They belong to J.K. Rowling and J.R.R. Tolkien, respectively. This is an amateur attempt. One which I am not making any profit over.

A/N: A big thank you to those who reviewed, and to those who took the time to read my last chapters.

Enjoy

xxxxx

**Drabble Four: Firestorm**

"Peregrine Took, save your valour for another day! We have not the time to look after —"

"No, I wish to keep her. Please Gandalf!"

"Already the beacons of Gondor are alight, as I have mentioned. Can you not see them speeding into the west? We must make haste. That cat is better off on its own, I am sorry to say."

The 'cat' in question meowed piteously. The little hobbit hugged her to his chest and stared up at his companion. "Oh Gandalf, how can you be so cruel? What has this cat ever done to you, I dare ask? And look how very fine she is, with the most unusual markings."

The wizard sighed and stroked his beard "Fine. I care not, but you shall have to look after her, Pippin. All the time I had spared is vanished. Already we are late!"

With that Gandalf hastened Shadowfax onward, all the while shaking his head at the stubbornness of hobbits.

But there was something very strange about that cat, he thought. Was it allowed to look so pleased with itself? And he had never seen one sit so stiffly as this one did, in Pippin's lap.

No, it was no ordinary cat.

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	6. Nagini's Missed Chance

Disclaimer: I do not own _Harry Potter_ or _The Lord of the Rings_. They belong to J.K. Rowling and J.R.R. Tolkien, respectively. This is an amateur attempt. One which I am not making any profit over.

A/N: Thanks to everyone for reviewing my last drabble. Just a note about my other stories. Black wizard and Little Harry _will_ be updated and I haven't given up on them. I just don't know _when_ they'll be updated. Hopefully soon. I'm having a bit of a rest from writing at the moment. Too many assignments, not enough brain power.

Again, this is not so much a drabble as a oneshot.

Enjoy.

**Drabble Six: Nagini's Missed Chance**

"_Sstupid boy," _Nagini hissed to herself, slithering speedily towards the magic she could taste. Every so often she would stop, poke out her forked tongue to get a sense of a direction that would lead her to the magic, then continue on.

The Potter boy had banished her. Gotten rid of her and, in turn, gotten rid of her master.

Her master was dead.

But _she_ was still alive. Nagini could still feel her master's presence, pressing against her mind as raw salt would on an open wound. Weak, yes, but he would be back.

With the proper rituals.

If only she could figure out where the stupid young snake-speaker had sent her. It certainly wasn't anywhere Nagini was familiar with.

The air here was cold and cloying and heavy, and smelled of animal faeces and moist leaves and . . . ancient. It smelled of ancient. Nagini was nothing here, just anther faeces-dumping animal.

The magic was growing stronger now, and she slithered over a fallen tree, feeling the rough bark scrape ever so wonderfully over her soft underbelly.

There!

Three men sat sleeping around a large heat — campfire she thought it was called —, two of whom were filthy muggles, one of whom was filled with magic. Overflowing with magic. Her tongue darted frantically, for a split moment certain she could eat the magic in the air. But no, magic had no substance. She had forgotten that in her excitement.

And oh my, the third being — he was so immortal he was practically swimming in it.

She felt her master's glee as though it were her own.

There was something different about this one, too. He wasn't like the immortals back home. Not like the vampires, who were once human and prone to all sorts of weaknesses like sunlight and garlic and stupid things like that.

No, this one was a true immortal. Or he would be when combined with her master's essence.

She slithered closer, careful to move extra slowly lest she wake her prey.

She mustn't have been slow enough.

The immortal glowing being sat up and looked right at her.

Nagini ducked with all the speed a snake-body could produce.

"What is it Legolas?" said the large muggle, having been awakened by the other's movement.

The glowing one continued to look in Nagini's direction. "A heavy malice approaches."

Immediately the two jumped up, weapons appearing as if they had been conjured.

Nagini hissed quietly to herself. The immortal one had excellent senses. And their movement had awakened the other one. The short, hairy one.

_Masster I need you._

But her master was weak. He couldn't help her now.

She hissed loudly, turned, and began slithering away. She would not go very far. Perhaps find a nice tree to spend the night in and observe. She had missed her chanced today. It would not have done any good to be caught, captured, and pierced with a sharp weapon. Her master would have died then, as well. Yes, they had missed their chance today, and it was a bitter feeling.

But tomorrow . . .

A series of spasmodic hisses were all Legolas, Aragorn, and Gimli heard before Fangorn became still once more.

The heavy malice had retreated.

For now.

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	7. A House Elf's Prerogative

Disclaimer: I do not own _Harry Potter_ or _The Lord of the Rings_. They belong to J.K. Rowling and J.R.R. Tolkien, respectively. This is an amateur attempt. One which I am not making any profit over.

(What did everyone think of Deathly Hallows?)

A/N: Thank you to those who took the time to review. Again, not really a drabble as much as a one shot.

Hope you enjoy this one!

xxxxx

**Number Seven: A House Elf's Prerogative**

The needle glinted small and orange in the dim light of the fire, encased in elegant fingers that did just as well holding a large weapon — the boon of Elvish gracefulness at work.

"Is Master needing anything else?"

Legolas grimaced, but continued to repair the small hole in his tunic. "No, no thank you, Winky, you have done more than enough."

"You is a _good_ Master. Winky is liking you very much, but Winky wishes Master would let her do something."

Across the fire, Aragorn coughed.

The blonde elf glared at him, resenting the small betrayal. Aragorn lifted his palms in surrender and looked away, pretending to smoke his pipe.

Legolas sighed.

_Three days!_

It had only been three days since he had rescued the little . . . he dared not think "elf" for the ugly creature did not bare even the slightest resemblance to his kind, even though she proclaimed herself — most vehemently — as much. He could only think that Winky had somehow fallen afoul of another as yet unknown Ring, which was worrisome enough. Or if not that, than The One Ring itself, but that was about as likely as Frodo and Sam turning up in Fangorn Forest.

Legolas had never been thus worshiped, and it made him most uncomfortable. Indeed, so much so that he had taken to climbing the ever-angry trees just to escape Winky, who would somehow find him anyway, materialising on his branch with a small popping noise and inquiring in that squeaky voice if he "is needing anything?"

The first time this occurred, Legolas had fallen off of the branch. _That_ had been shocking enough, but when he had suddenly found himself stopping in mid-air . . . well, he did not like to dwell much on that adventure. The discovery that Winky was magical, indeed, even more so than dear Gandalf, had him and his companions in a thoughtful trance for the rest of that day and much of the next.

It was obvious to all, even Gimli, that Winky did not intend them any harm. It was only that . . .

"Master, what do you wants Winky to be doing now?"

Legolas glanced down at those enormous, imploring — worshipful — eyes, and sighed. "Nothing, Winky. I have told you: I need nothing. You need not do anything that I cannot do myself, and willingly."

Those eyes filled with tears. "You is not needing Winky. Winky is not doing her work as she should. Winky is a _bad_ elf!" Then the little body darted to the fire and stuck in those spindly hands before Legolas could even blink.

A high-pitched howl that struck through Legolas's soul sounded throughout the stillness of Fangorn, waking Gimli and horrifying Aragorn.

"_Ai, Winky!_" Legolas scooped up the sobbing creature and carried her to where the mud was cool at the banks of a small streamlet, dimly registering his friends' following footsteps. "What have I told you about punishing yourself?"

"You is, you is telling —" the creature was hiccuping continuously into his tunic now "— you is telling Winky not to be doing that."

"Yes, I is telli —" Legolas drew a deep, but patient, breath. "_Yes_, I did tell you that. Do you know why?"

Winky shook her head, wincing as the cooling paste of the mud was spread onto her hands. "No Master, but Winky would very much like to know."

Legolas knew Winky was not being deliberately obtuse, that she just did not know any better, but it was difficult to maintain patience in the face of such behaviour. "I do not wish for you to hurt yourself, that is why."

Winky stared at him.

She was still staring at him as he carried her to his pallet in front of the fire and wrapped her burnt flesh with the very tunic he had been repairing that night — which he had torn and soaked in the Athelas plant — then he tucked in the creature and bid her to sleep before finding a comfortable tree branch to spend the night in.

He did not think about feeding her, for it was no use, and Winky would not — could not — accept such courtesy.

Legolas stared up at the canopy wondering, not for the first time, just how much his life had veered since he strode the road from Mirkwood to Rivendell. He had certainly never expected to be involved in a quest to destroy a Dark Lord, _or_ have a so-called "house-elf" as a slave.

_Pop!_

Legolas spoke without turning. "I bid you rest, Winky. What are you doing here?"

A slight shuffling noise accompanied by an occasional whimper reached him before Winky deigned to speak. "Winky is sorry, but she does not understand."

"What don't you understand, Winky?"

"You was not behaving as you should. You was Winky's Master. You was rescuing Winky and you was performing magic on Winky, and you was Winky's Master, but you was not acting like Winky's Master."

Legolas understood nothing but, "Was?"

"You gives Winky clothes. You gives Winky your shirt. You is not Winky's Master anymore."

Legolas looked across the branch, Elven eyes spotting her where Men's would not have, disguised and small as she was by the trunk of the tree. "You mean to tell me that you shall not follow me anymore?"

The creature nodded, large ears flopping almost comically against her bald head. "Yes. But Winky still wants to understand why you is giving her clothes."

"I did not know it would release you."

She was sobbing now, tears rolling down her little leathery cheeks and spattering onto the branch. "Winky is a _bad_, bad elf. Winky is a disgraced elf! You was being Winky's second Master, and you gives Winky clothes, and now Winky does not know what to do!"

She was crying loudly now, her little throat gasping for air, her enormous eyes barely seen through the glaze of tears.

"Winky," said Legolas gently, laying a hand on the small shoulder. Green eyes peeked up at him. "You may still stay with me. With us. You will always be welcome, never think otherwise. It is obvious you have no home."

Winky nodded. "Yes, sir, Hogwarts is very far away. Winky does not know how she is apparating here. But Winky is sometimes thinking that the trees reminds her of the Whomping Willow."

"Would you like to have a little food, then?"

Winky looked down. "Winky likes that."

Legolas smiled; the final proof was at hand. "Then you shall have some. Come with me."

He held out his hand. Winky put her poor, tender flesh into it. His little unwanted slave had finally become his very much wanted companion.

After befriending a dwarf, a house elf was going to be little bother.

xxxxxx


	8. Boromir's Last Vision

Disclaimer: I do not own _Harry Potter_ or _The Lord of the Rings_. They belong to J.K. Rowling and J.R.R. Tolkien, respectively. This is an amateur attempt. One which I am not making any profit over.

A/N: Thanks to all those who reviewed. Hope you enjoy this drabble.

I don't normally write in first person, but I thought it was more appropriate for this drabble. This is a little bit of an experiment for me.

Hope you like.

xxxxxx

**Drabble Eight: Boromir's Last Vision**

The battle had seemed endless, everlasting, the orcs swarming in a hoard that had left not one sight on the horizon bereft of their presence — but for me this sight had waned.

I lay dying in Aragorn's arms when I first saw her, standing gently aside. Such a presence there was about her that I thought for one moment the White Lady was looking upon me once more, judging me, speaking to me. But no. Fair though this lady was, the hair on her head was not gold but red as the blood that was leaking out of me, killing me.

The vision frightened me. More than I cared to admit. For, all that I had been worth, all that I had deemed myself, is now nothing. I was nothing. I had . . . disgraced myself.

And her eyes, how they told me this! How green and accusing and like everything so . . . sad.

Her outstretched hand. Her sad eyes. What would happen to me? I deserved nothing less than what I deserved.

I gave myself over to her. I took her hand. I followed her into the light.

And I knew.

Peace.

xxxxxx


	9. Twins Times Two

Disclaimer: I do not own _Harry Potter_ or _The Lord of the Rings_. They belong to J.K. Rowling and J.R.R. Tolkien, respectively. This is an amateur attempt. One which I am not making any profit over.

A/N: Okay . . . um . . . wow. I think an explanation is in order:

Yes, it's Lily. Boromir was dying, he felt guilty for trying to kill Frodo and take the Ring from him. He didn't know what to expect when he died. Lily was his guide. He took a chance and followed her. He found peace (because he was innocent and honorable and good). The end.

Thanks to all those who reviewed, I just thought I should clear up some questions before I said that.

Hope you enjoy.

xxxxxx

**Drabble Nine: Twins Times Two**

"Hear that, George?"

"He wants us to put it where, Fred?"

"And without a wand?"

Elladan groaned. _Ai._ "The fire will not hurt you, young Istari. You'll not be sticking your hand into it."

"No, you shall be sticking your metal into it. You want swords, do you not?" asked Elrohir. "You must first melt it and shape it, before you can use it. To do that you must put it in the fire."

Fred and George looked at each other. Nodded. Then, in sync, raised their wands, waved, and two perfectly formed, gleaming swords lay silently on the metal board next to the hammers and tongs.

"I think," said Elladan to his brother, as they watched the twin wizards pick up their blades and, with wide grins, walk out of the courtyard and into the surrounding night, "that their way is much better. And faster."

"I would have to agree with you, brother. Although appreciate their smug faces I will never do. They can have their magic and leave us to ours."

With that the brothers lifted their metal, nodded to each other, and proceeded to hammer it. It would take about two weeks until their blades' completion, but it was the elven way, and that was much more comfortable.

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	10. Granger Stranger

Disclaimer: I do not own _Harry Potter_ or _The Lord of the Rings_. They belong to J.K. Rowling and J.R.R. Tolkien, respectively. This is an amateur attempt. One which I am not making any profit over.

A/N: Phew, just got home. Thought I'd do a quick one of these.

Enjoy.

xxxxxx

**Number Ten: Granger ****Stranger**

Hermione Granger paused to look over the thing she had just stunned, which was lying in the small patch of grass beneath the brambles of a berry bush. It had been chasing her for what felt like hours now, but Hermione knew it had only been a few minutes since it had spotted her through the slit of trees. The creature was medium height, bearing an extremely long beard and a feather stuck in the side of its hat. Yellow boots and a blue jacket completed the picture.

It wasn't human. Hermione knew that. No human could withstand seven subsequent stunners, nor an equal number of other jinxes that she'd shot over her shoulder in feverish desperation when the stunners had refused to do their job. But at last the combined spells had slowed it down and, after one last stunner, had finally put it to sleep.

Hermione nudged it with the toe of her shoe, just to make sure it wasn't faking, then knelt down and turned it over. "Oh dear . . ."

It was a man. Or something that looked like a man at least: a kindly old grandfatherly type man. Hermione hadn't a clue why he had begun chasing her in the first place. She had merely been staring across the river through the slit of trees, glad of finding some water at last after two days of clueless wandering in the woods, and noticed a beautiful girl combing her hair by the river's bank. The whole scenario, including the girl, had actually reminded Hermione of Disney's _Sleeping Beauty_; even down to the girl's long golden hair and the sweet singing she'd been indulging in.

Hermione had been quite captivated by the picture — until the man had spotted her and given chase.

But now he was stunned and Hermione could examine him at her leisure. He was really quite . . . ordinary looking. Even his clothing bore a kind of patched shabbiness, though his beard was curiously well-combed and his nose perfectly shaped with neither dent nor crook to be seen —unusual with one so old. Although, now that Hermione was looking so closely, she noted that he wasn't actually as old as she had first assumed. Rather, the long brown-grey beard and laugh wrinkles gave an impression of great age.

What kind of creature was he? He looked harmless enough, but for the chasing. Even his eyes were friendly, blue and sparkling in the morning sun —

Hermione gasped. Before she could even think to run the old man captured both of her hands and tied them up with the cord from his belt so quickly that she could only blink at how fast that had been accomplished. Then he tugged her back the way they had come from.

"Wait," she tried, but he only tugged faster. "Wait," she said again.

"What," he said, turning about and facing her. Hermione was taken aback. He didn't look displeased at all; in fact, just the opposite. He seemed almost cheery.

_Oh, perfect. _She was stuck with a mental case. She calmed herself with the thought of what Harry and Ron would do when she told them about all this later. Presuming there would be a later and this old man didn't kill her. "Well—that is—I mean . . ." she stuttered.

He waited patiently.

"I honestly meant no harm," Hermione settled on finally. "I only desired a drink of water, you see."

"What's the matter here then?" said the old man. "I know what the matter is; you were spying on Tom Bombadil's wife: trying to do Goldberry a turn."

"I was not," said Hermione crossly.

"Well then, if that's the case, I welcome you," said the old man named Tom Bombadil and, as though nothing untoward had happened between them, undid Hermione's ropes quick as you please and continued walking on.

Hermione was left blinking in his wake. She shook herself and ran to catch up. "Wait!"

"What?" he said again. "Tom's got food in his little house, and you'd be a-wanting something to eat."

Hermione stared. "Yes." Then remembered herself. "Please, I mean. Yes please." What an odd little man.

Hermione thought him even odder when he started to sing:

"_I chased a nosy__ woman once; spying on Goldberry,_

_Young woman with a bushy tail upon her merry head._

_Light of gold, blue, green, white, bright and cherry,_

_It struck a hit and never missed until __old Tom played dead._

_O, Here we go and there we go a-chasing through the forest!_

"_Now here she comes a-home with Tom to meet the River-daughter,_

_Up, down, and under hill with the hobbits waiting . . ."_

Hermione listened with disbelief as the old man led her jovially onwards, still singing his bizarre improvised song. What sort of world had she stepped in to? That strangers captured you then let you go at a word. That magic appeared not to work on small old men. Harry and Ron would never believe her when she got back home. Hermione hardly believed it herself.

And at last they were back near the river. Goldberry, the man's wife, was gone now, but four children had taken her place. They were washing their feet in the water, and looked up when Hermione and Tom Bombadil came to a halt.

"Why, who is that, Tom?" asked one of the children in a strangely deep voice.

"I don't know," replied Tom nonchalantly. "Come! Say hello my friendly fellows, and if I know my Goldberry she has set an extra plate at the table." Then he seemingly forgot about Hermione, as he took to walking across the little bridge over the river and into the cottage.

Hermione held herself stiffly. It would not do to gape. "Hello," she said politely.

"Good morning," said one of the children, and looked straight at her.

_Yes,_ thought Hermione when she saw his face and finally gave into the urge to gape. _It really is a strange place I have stumbled in to._

xxxxx


End file.
